against the world
by combeferring
Summary: Éponine thinks that Enjolras understands what it feels like when you're fighting the rest of the world —- part ii of "one hand in mine", Eponine/Enjolras, Enjolras/Grantaire, Cosette/Marius.


**against the world  
**_éponine/enjolras_**  
**

* * *

Éponine normally enjoys Tuesdays—Tuesdays are bright, filled with coffee at the Musain followed by lunch with Grantaire and then an afternoon at Jehan's apartment where he writes poetry and she does her school work and makes paper chains from his discarded notebook pages. But today her mood is black and bottomless and isn't helped by the fact she's stood on Enjolras' doorstep in the bitter cold of the evening without a coat. She's hungry, she hasn't got enough money to cover food for the rest of the week, Gavroche has been quiet all evening and the paralysing terror that something is horribly wrong has seized hold of her, icy fingers of fear twisting around her heart and squeezing. Éponine doesn't like it when Gavroche doesn't talk because normally he doesn't shut up—he's too bright for his own good, his mouth constantly moving, and so the muted tones have been plaguing Éponine since she collected him from school.

And then Cosette had barged into Éponine's bedroom—where Éponine was sulking in bed, what of it?—at half past eight and demanded that Éponine take a bag of books to Enjolras because he needed them and Marius was due at _any minute _so Cosette had to wait for him.

It's a testament to Éponine's friendship with Cosette that she had rolled out of bed and grudgingly stepped into her battered boots whilst glaring at her friend. Cosette had promised that she and Marius would put Gavroche to bed whilst Éponine was gone—Gavroche, who had refused to say goodbye to her when she left and had remained sat on the sofa with his arms folded and his homework in front of him whilst complaining about Maths.

"Hey," Enjolras says, jolting Éponine out of her reverie when he swings the door open with surprise evident in his blue eyes.

Éponine doesn't blame him. Enjolras and Éponine have never been close enough to turn up unannounced on each other's doorsteps. They're friends, sure, because Grantaire has dragged Éponine along to every single one of Enjolras' activist meetings and Enjolras is also Cosette's best friend so Éponine is used to encountering him briefly in the apartment she and Cosette share. Yet seeing him barefoot with his shirt completely unbuttoned, revealing the firm muscles of his abdomen and the golden trail of hairs that leads downwards from his naval is a little strange, but he just offers her one of his smiles—the one reserved for his friends alone and it feels more normal.

"You know some people might be a bit alarmed if you opened the door to them half naked," Éponine says with a raised eyebrow and a barely-there smirk but the whole effect is ruined by the violent chattering of her teeth and the way her entire body shivers from the cold. _Fucking hell_.

"Get inside," Enjolras tells her, his words commanding but softened by the concerned frown and the way he steps aside to usher her into the hallway. "Combeferre's out consoling Courf—it was me you wanted to see, right?"

Éponine follows his instructions, still trying to rub warmth into her arms as Enjolras closes the door behind her.

It is a well known fact that Enjolras hadn't liked Éponine initially—she had been something of a system shock, being contrary, blunt, stubborn to a fault, known to refuse things on the grounds of it not suiting her. Impulsive. Impulsive, yet responsible—an oxymoron, and if Grantaire were here he'd remind her that the word "_oxymoron_" is an oxymoron itself because he's a pretentious literature student. That was another aspect that hadn't helped improve Enjolras' impression of her. The fact she was—and always will be—Grantaire's best friend, constantly at R's side as Grantaire had proceeded to try and unravel all of Enjolras' carefully worded arguments, hadn't gone down too well in those early days. Grantaire's opposition isn't exactly welcomed now but Enjolras takes the challenges with a little more grace, handles it a little better. And so Enjolras and Éponine's relationship had seemed doomed until Cosette had acted as a bridge for them and now Éponine is a fully integrated member of the small group of people Enjolras really loves. It's because she knows this and she knows he cares that, when he fetches a blanket from the cupboard and makes her a hot drink, she accepts it and thanks him.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Enjolras asks her, handing a polka-dot mug filled with (organic) coffee over and lifting three piles of books off the sofa so that Éponine can sit down properly.

"Cosette asked me to bring over some books," Éponine tells him as he hefts a particularly large, unappealing volume up off the sofa and places it on the coffee table. "They're in the blue bag."

Enjolras moves around as Éponine drinks, unpacking the books Cosette had insisted Éponine bring and then sitting down next to her and offering her a cigarette. Éponine accepts, allowing Enjolras to light it for her before leaning back to drag the smoke into her lungs. Even though Éponine knows it's more psychological than anything, she feels calmer already as ribbons of smoke uncurl from the glowing red tip, twisting almost seductively with their counterpart from Enjolras' own loosely held cigarette. Enjolras looks more relaxed, too, his feet propped up against the table as his gaze lingers on Éponine's shirt.

Éponine glances down, realising that the yellow and green checked button down she's wearing actually belonged to Grantaire until she stole it from his clean laundry last week, the warm flannel making her feel a little less alone as it brushes over her skin. Because Éponine _is_ lonely. She carries the weight of the world on her narrow shoulders and it threatens to break her every day because she cannot share this burden with anyone. She cannot drag her friends down with her because this is her problem and so she lives with the isolation that comes from having to be so very adult when she's so very young. She lives with it and she swallows any complaints because, well, what else can she do?

"I stole it," she tells Enjolras because, really, he couldn't be any less subtle as he stares at the frayed collar. She looks at him, breathing out a mouthful of smoke whilst he tries to hide the relief that is sharp on his face. "I don't have many clothes and R won't mind."

"It's none of my business," Enjolras responds hastily, rolling his cigarette between his fingers. It's only because Éponine is good at watching people that she knows when Enjolras starts to fiddle it's because he's unsure of himself. A rarity to be sure, but it nearly always happens when Grantaire is concerned and sometimes Éponine just wants to crash their heads together and tell them to stop being stupid and _open their eyes_.

But, at the same time, she understands that they're not ready for this and that she just has to wait for them to realise for themselves. Even if it is the most frustrating thing, to watch them dance around each other because even Marius understands there is _something_ there and if Marius knows, it must be obvious.

"You want it to be your business, though," she says anyway, because Enjolras has always needed a little help when it comes to relationships and even Éponine knows that. _Everyone_ knows that.

Enjolras looks at her, his eyes guarded and his eyebrows pulling together in a small frown as he watches her with the caution of someone approaching a wild cat. Éponine can't decide if she should be flattered or not—she likes being scary, she likes being able to provide herself with some degree of protection—but Enjolras is crushing his cigarette against a saucer that doubles as an ashtray and leaning forwards, his gaze fixed on the lights of the Eiffel tower that illuminate the skyline.

"He drives me crazy," Enjolras mutters, his long, graceful fingers rubbing his temples and Éponine says nothing, drawing a leg closer to her chest so that she has something to hold onto. "I don't—I don't understand how I feel about him."

Éponine feels confusion stir within her because she's pretty certain that Enjolras hasn't even told Cosette this, and Cosette and Enjolras are closer than twins and Éponine is Grantaire's best friend so she's definitely not the ideal candidate to hear all of this. But he's talking and that's important in terms of just about _everything_. Enjolras is so closed off when it comes to feelings that they must be burning away inside of him with so much intensity that he needs to get them out, to let them fill the air between them, which is why Éponine remains silent and waits for him to speak again.

"I hate this," Enjolras mumbles after a moment and Éponine reaches out to pat his arm with only some awkwardness—she's not the best at comforting anyone except Gavroche, and even that is a learned skill. "I don't like the uncertainty."

Éponine moves closer to him then, stretching her long legs out and sighing. There are a few minutes where neither of them says anything and then Éponine heaves another sigh as she spots Grantaire's copy of _Lolita_ on the coffee table because Enjolras just can't admit his feelings for Grantaire to himself, let alone to anyone else.

"That's the thing with relationships," Éponine says, reaching down to twist her belly bar absently. "Everything hinges on another person and you can't understand what they're thinking or feeling. You just have to work on it and trust them but that's difficult in itself, to place all your faith in another person. It should get easier, as time goes on. You just have to decide if it's worth it."

Enjolras looks directly at her then, his eyes intense and his mouth set and Éponine suddenly understands why Grantaire is sometimes rendered speechless when Enjolras fixes his gaze upon him. It's passionate yet unreadable and it's impossible to look away.

"You sound sad when you say that," Enjolras tells her and then he's up on his feet, moving to refill her coffee mug—but this time he adds a dose of Irish brandy from God knows where to both their drinks before resuming his position beside her. Éponine sips obediently, the alcohol burning a hot pathway down her throat. "Is this about Marius?"

Éponine winces at his question, blood rushing to colour her cheeks pink as she looks away. The whole Cosette-Marius-Éponine saga was surprisingly drama-free but is still humiliating and Éponine just doesn't like thinking about it when Cosette and Marius are so stupidly happy together. (But, yes, Éponine isn't quite over him and that just means she _definitely_ doesn't want to talk about it).

"Actually," Éponine says in a tone that is stained with honesty, "It's not. I can't begrudge Cosette the happiness and besides she actually loves Marius as a person whilst I just loved the idea of him, because he was kind to me at a time when not many people were. It's—It doesn't matter."

She cuts herself off sharply before she can say any more, unwilling to reveal the shadowed side to her personality that will undoubtedly just mark her as damaged goods. Because it took time to slot herself into the correct place, it took time to align her jagged edges in a way that would make her fit, it took time to win their hearts and she doesn't want to make them pity her. Éponine doesn't like people being sympathetic because she has pride and she has learnt that sometimes pride is all you have when the world is empty and that is why she hangs onto it so tightly.

"I just bared my soul to you," Enjolras says with a _look_. "I'm hardly in any position to judge."

For a moment, Éponine freezes, words sticking in her throat as she wonders if she should keep her secrets but then she's throwing caution to the wind and deciding to just believe in Enjolras. Because the Enjolras sitting with her isn't the revolutionary who thinks himself invincible, who thinks of justice and nothing else. It's the man who Cosette knows, the one who makes pancakes when she's ill and shares Cosette's bed when she's miserable and Éponine wants to trust him because she knows he is unspeakably kind to her best friend and she thinks he will be kind to her, too.

"It's Gavroche," she says and suddenly the dam that was holding all of this in has burst and she is talking very quickly, her words stumbling over each other in their haste to be heard. Éponine hadn't realised she had been keeping so much locked inside of her until she realises she cannot stop speaking if she wants to, everything flooding out of her mouth without any conscious effort on Éponine's part.

Enjolras knows the basics but Éponine repeats them anyway—the Thénardiers weren't the best parents (read: abusive) and Éponine had gotten out of the house the minute she turned eighteen with a scholarship to the University. Three months after term had begun, Gavroche had turned up on her doorstep (dirty, battered, and broken but only Éponine knows that) and Cosette had agreed to let him stay. Since then he has flourished beautifully—all of the Amis surround him in a strange, dysfunctional family where he is awarded all the luxuries Éponine never had but desperately wants for him. He has people to help him with his homework, a warm meal every day, a safe home to go to. He also has the added bonus of knowing more about social justice than most adults and he must be the only nine year old that can debate societal problems at length. He's someone to be proud of but it's difficult. Very difficult.

"I know," Enjolras says gently, "What you're doing is life changing—amazing, yes, but life changing."

Life changing is a good word for it because Éponine's life has been irrevocably altered. She has someone else, someone infinitely more important than her, to care for and now responsibility governs her every move. Every single decision she makes, she makes with Gavroche in mind—she has to have her cell phone on her at all times because what if something happens to Gavroche and someone needs to get hold of her? She has to budget all of her (minimal) funds because she needs to ensure Gavroche has food and clothes and general _stuff_ that children need, she has to make sure he's not alone in the apartment so she has to pass up on nights out and she has to make sure he does all his school work. Responsibility has become a deeply ingrained part of her, weighing down her limbs and heavy in her heart. She bears the burden of an adult because she has someone else to prioritise and that terrifies her.

(Sometimes Éponine wakes up in the cold blackness of the night with her heart in her throat, cutting off the oxygen from her lungs because of the crippling fear because _what if she screws Gavroche up?_)

So yes. Éponine is responsible in a way she never was before. Life changing is definitely a fitting description.

"He's so... closed off," Éponine says, finding it difficult to complain about her brother because, as far as kids go, Gavroche is good. He's cheerful and lively and smart—a bit too smart in terms of answering back, but he's so clever and his teachers sing his praises. "He won't tell me what scares him. And he is petrified of something because he has nightmares _every night_ but he won't tell me what about. He bottles it all up and that's what bothers me."

"Cosette never mentioned nightmares," Enjolras says in a way that's almost thoughtful. "Every night?"

Éponine just nods, biting down on her thumbnail and ignoring the confirmation that Cosette clearly shares everything with Enjolras. Not that that is much of a surprise—sometimes Cosette and Enjolras can have entire conversations without so much as opening their mouths. They're just like that.

"You're going to want to kill me for this," Enjolras says, rubbing a hand along his jaw as he talks. "But he'll tell you when he's ready. He needs to admit it to himself before he can tell you."

"I haven't told anyone," Éponine admits, ignoring the irony of Enjolras' words because he's one to talk about refusing to admit things to himself. Instead, she just rests her chin on her knees and enjoys light-headedness from the liberal dose of brandy that had flavoured her coffee. "He looks up to all of you. He wouldn't want to think I was telling everyone."

Enjolras fixes his serious stare on her once more and this time Éponine knows he's seeing the dark circles under her eyes from the disturbed nights and from all the night's where sleep evaded her because she was sitting next to Gavroche's bed, sometimes simply to check he was still breathing. He's seeing the way she's lost weight from stress and from making sure Gavroche has a full meal—even if Éponine doesn't—and he's seeing the exhaustion that Éponine fights off day by day. He's seeing her at her very worst, the shell of a girl who has never been lucky when it comes to life.

"You're selfless," Enjolras finally tells her and there's admiration radiating in his tone, radiating off him. Enjolras is looking up to _her _and it's truly bizarre because Éponine isn't selfless at all. She's actually pretty selfish, convinced that she is black at her very core and decaying inside from all of her questionable morals but one kind act and she is mistaken for a saint.

"Not really," Éponine says and then shakes her head, standing up and tracing Enjolras' earlier footsteps to the kitchen because she doesn't want to think about this. She was never made for admiration, always closer to the devil than anything else.

She makes them more brandy-spiked coffee and returns to find Enjolras stood by the window and looking out at the city. He cuts an impressive profile, his hands at his hips with Paris sprawled in front of him. Yet despite the imposing form he looks very alone, a solitary figure on a one-man crusade to change the world, and Éponine can almost see how Grantaire would look standing next to him with their fingers entwined.

Éponine understands the crushing loneliness all too well because she's jagged edges and cutting angles, one girl up against the world with a small matchstick boy in her shadow. And so she moves to his side and hands him a mug before slipping a hand in his and feeling his palm wrap around hers.

"Do you ever wonder if it's worth saving?" Éponine asks him and she doesn't know if she's asking if she means the world or Grantaire—because Enjolras wants to save Grantaire from the darkness that threatens to take him, he wants to save Grantaire from the other men who would have him, he wants to save Grantaire all for himself.

"Did you ever wonder if Gavroche was worth saving?" Enjolras responds immediately, his voice neutral but there is fire in his words because he knows what Éponine's answer will be.

He turns his head to Éponine anyway, his eyebrows raised in a challenge, and Éponine doesn't respond because the answer is obvious and desire is unfurling itself in her stomach because of the way Enjolras is _looking_ at her and because she thinks he understands her.

She doesn't know who moves first but the coffee mugs are quickly discarded and she's in his arms, grasping his shirt to haul him closer as their lips crash together. Enjolras isn't gentle—far from it in fact—but neither is Éponine and she is grateful for the fingers that sink into her flesh as he drags her to him, for the bruising hold he has on her as he lifts her in his arms.

Enjolras understands what Éponine wants without her even saying it, scraping his teeth over her throat when she grinds herself against him, raking her nails down his back. His hands press against her thighs, the dip of her waist, the slant of her hips as he leans her against the wall. Éponine doesn't think much of it as she pushes his shirt over his broad shoulders, angling herself to nip at his collar bone, because her mind is clouded from the feeling of being kissed with such fierceness and the sheer _want_ which is burning between her thighs. His hand slides between her legs, making her gasp and thrust her hips forward as she tips her head right back and it's really been too fucking _long_.

"Is this okay?" Enjolras manages to bite out, one arm supporting her as he looks up, cheeks flushed and lips reddened. He looks ruined already and that is strangely appealing.

When Éponine nods, panting embarrassingly loudly, the world shifts as Enjolras is suddenly carrying her to his bed. Half of her wants to protest, because she really wouldn't mind being fucked against a wall, but Enjolras is pushing her into the mattress and their lips are clashing together again. Éponine's entire body curves into his touch and he whimpers are the press of her palms against him, any sense of care left behind with their coffee.

"Condom?" she asks breathlessly and Enjolras' teeth catch her ear to make her moan before he's reaching for his wallet. His eyes are wild as he looks down at her and she can see herself reflected in his gaze, her hair dark against the white of his pillows. She doesn't recognise herself and that's okay—she feels more human than she's felt in months.

Then Enjolras is looking away, his hands completely steady as he flips his wallet open. Éponine sees a stack of Euro notes and what could be a photo before Enjolras has tugged a foil square free and tossed the wallet aside. The condom is dropped beside them as Éponine pushes his jeans down and he unfastens her bra with unpractised hands.

"Is this okay?" Enjolras asks once again, before lowering his head for his tongue tracing patters along the freckles of her shoulder.

"God, hurry up," is all Éponine can get out and then he's moving into her, Éponine arching off the mattress to accommodate him, to feel him and _fuck_.

They fall together in a fast, furious rhythm, Enjolras hoisting her up so that she's sat in his lap. The sound of skin against skin fills the apartment, mingling with their gasps as air is ripped from their lungs. One of Enjolras' hands tangles in the dark waterfall of hair that tumbles down Éponine's back and tugs, exposing Éponine's throat for him to mark. All Éponine is aware of is the sensations, the way Enjolras is making her feel as his fingers slide between their bodies—between her thighs—and oh God—

And when Enjolras makes a noise in the back of his throat that clearly indicates he's moments away from oblivion, Éponine's hands cup his face so she can kiss him with a ferocity she didn't know she possessed, swallowing the _Grantaire_ that trips off Enjolras' tongue. After all, they understand the need to keep each other's secrets and it's the least she can do for him because he has listened to her when she needed it most.

When it's over, they pull apart, curling on Enjolras' bed with heaving chests and sweat-soaked skin. Éponine's eyes are heavy with tiredness, the bed soft beneath her and Enjolras' arm heavy around her waist so that there is a barrier between her and the dangerous shadows that lurk in her dreams. It's safe in his bed and Éponine suddenly understands why Cosette always wants Enjolras' presence. He's reassuring.

"Are you okay?" Enjolras asks her, concerned, and Éponine manages to open her eyes and look at him with a smile.

"Of course," she says and she means it, because there's a feel-good ache that lingers and there is warmth in her stomach. Normal. She feels normal. "If you can't have sex with your friends, who can you have sex with?"

Enjolras actually laughs, kissing her temple before pulling the blankets over both of them. Accordion music drifts in through the slightly open window, almost like a lullaby that soothes the tattered edges of Éponine's mind and she can feel sleep creeping up on her, preparing to drag her under.

"That was the best sex I've had in a while," she murmurs as she turns her face into Enjolras' bicep. "But I need to get home."

"You're fine for a minute," Enjolras mumbles back, his fingers trailing over the prominent knobs of her spine and Éponine has to agree because she's so comfortable and it's actually just nice to be touched.

"You should talk to R," is the last thing Éponine can remember saying before sleep overtakes her and she succumbs to it, still wound around Enjolras.

:::

The Game of Thrones theme tune wakes them both up, the glowing green numbers on Enjolras' clock announcing that it's ten to three in the morning. Éponine is disorientated, thrown off balance by the way her body is tucked against someone else's but then she realises the music is her ringtone and that she was meant to be home about six hours ago and _oh God Gavroche_

She wrenches herself away from Enjolras, leaning over the side of the bed to pull her phone free of her jeans pocket. Cosette's name is lighting up the screen and Éponine struggles to unlock it, cupping the phone to her ear as Cosette's frantic voice spills out of the speakers.

"What's happened?" Éponine demands, aware of Enjolras sitting up next to her and rubbing a hand over his eyes.

"It's Gavroche," Cosette says and the bottom of Éponine's stomach drops away and nausea sweeps through her as every single worst-case scenario manifests behind her eyelids. "He's hysterical, Éponine, we can't stop him crying, he keeps saying your name—"

"I'll be there in five minutes," Éponine promises as she flings herself, swearing, out of bed and scrambles into her jeans without any care for dignity.

Enjolras is out of bed, too, and dressing alongside her. He passes her one of his own red button downs to pull on and snatches up his car keys as she jams her boots on her feet. Her heart is beating so hard it feels like it might rocket out of her chest and she is glad of Enjolras' firm presence to keep her grounded, his arm around her waist physically stopping her from spiralling out of control. She is even more grateful when he drives thirty miles over the speed limit to get them back to the apartment within mere minutes, both of them crashing through the front door without any thought for the neighbours.

Éponine's feet carry her straight to the bedroom, where Cosette is on Gavroche's mattress with Gavroche's head in her lap and Marius is crouched beside them. She crosses the room in three strides and drops to her knees as Gavroche flings himself at her with the surety that she will catch him. And Éponine does with a frighteningly practised ease, pulling him effortlessly into her lap as his fingers scrabble to cling onto her.

"It's alright, sweetie," she whispers into his ear, his curls rustling in her ear as he presses his clammy face into her shoulder.

"You weren't here," he whispers the accusation into her collar bone and guilt has its fingers wrapped around Éponine's throat because she's failed the person who means the most to her. "You said you'd always be here and you _weren't_."

"I'm here now," she replies but it's not good enough and she knows it so she pulls her brother even closer to her, so that she can feel his heart beat as well as her own.

"I'm here too," someone else promises and then Cosette's arms are around both of them, one hand smoothing Gavroche's sweat-dampened hair and the other rubbing circles between Éponine's shoulder blades. Whilst Éponine can't return Cosette's embrace—that would involve setting Gavroche down and Éponine isn't prepared to do that—she leans into Cosette and closes her eyes as Gavroche shudders against her.

"Where were you?" Gavroche asks as his sobs give way to jerky hiccups, still hiding his face in Éponine's skin.

"I fell asleep on Enjolras' sofa," Éponine tells him, ignoring Cosette's raised eyebrow because it's obvious from the way Enjolras' shirt is wrapped around her narrow frame and her hair is sex-mused that she was not doing anything as innocent as a sleepover. But Gavroche doesn't need to know that and Éponine is just apologising as she rocks her brother in her arms.

Over Gavroche's quietening sniffs, they can hear Enjolras shushing Marius in the kitchen and the sound of the kettle boiling as he makes tea for them all. Always practical, and Éponine still can't shake the relief his presence brings her because she trusts Enjolras to lead them. He always leads them.

"Shall we?" Cosette murmurs gently, her heart-shaped face glowing with concern in the half-light of the room. She looks so worried that Éponine feels immediately worse for giving her something to worry about—she never meant to concern Cosette, lovely Cosette who is a perpetual ball of sunshine when everything else is dark.

Éponine doesn't say any of this, only nods in response, hoisting Gavroche into her arms and standing up. Gavroche is still tangled around her, more like a koala than a boy as his hands attempt to find a way to anchor them together. Cosette blinks at this and Éponine understands—she doesn't look strong enough to hold an armful of nine-year old but she _is_, and she's clutching him just as tightly as he hangs onto her. Cosette picks up one of the blankets that Gavroche burrows under to sleep and they make their way to the kitchen in a strange kind of procession, all of them silent because no one wants to speak first.

"Can you make him some hot chocolate?" Éponine asks Enjolras quietly, hitching Gavroche higher in her arms and she can see how Gavroche peers at Enjolras from under dark, damp eyelashes that have clumped together. He looks mistrustful, which is an oddity in itself because in the day he would be talking quickly in Enjolras' ear about God knows what, clamouring for his attention.

Then again, in the day Éponine wouldn't be permitted to hold him like this—he'd be wriggling free of her arms and claiming that he can walk, he's not a baby. For some reason, Éponine finds herself suddenly glad that he is allowing this, allowing her to clutch him to her because she thinks she's reassuring herself just as much as him.

Éponine brushes her knuckles across his cheek, gathering stray tears as Enjolras tries to smile reassuringly—it's a nice gesture, and it does seem work because Gavroche manages a watery smile in return. Marius offers to take Gavroche but Éponine refuses, muttering something about how he couldn't hold onto her brother without falling over without really thinking about her response for the simple reason of not wanting to relinquish her hold on Gavroche to anyone. She knows that much is clear from the way there isn't a single millimetre of skin between her and Gavroche and the way she chooses to keep him in her arms when she could sit him in a chair. Marius seems to understand, squeezing Éponine's shoulder.

Cosette moves to stand by Enjolras, pouring milk into mugs whilst shooting furtive glances at her friend. It's only then that Éponine realises he looks just as fucked as her, his curls tangled and teeth marks on his neck that are love notes, attesting the way he and Éponine had fallen together. She doesn't really know what to say, but Enjolras and Cosette have always had a connection that ran far deeper than words and seem to be communicating with looks alone.

"It's alright," Éponine says gently as Gavroche shudders, breaking the quiet and Cosette turns back to them.

"We've got you," Cosette adds, stepping up and wrapping an arm around Gavroche as best she can. He's hidden his face completely in the curve of Éponine's neck but Cosette stays there until his hand creeps out and his fingers—still bearing some of the chubbiness of childhood—twist through hers.

Éponine experiences a sudden rush of gratitude to Cosette and finds herself thanking the stars that this blonde haired angel had waltzed into her life on the first day of university and announced that they were going to be brilliant friends, she could feel it.

At some point, Gavroche falls asleep, held between them, his breathing evening out whilst he is clutches Cosette with an arm slung tightly around his sister's neck. Éponine has her face buried in his hair to hide the lone tear making its way down her face because life has never been particularly kind to her, and she has learnt the hard way to hide her weakness.

"I'll put him to bed," Cosette offers, her voice a whisper but Éponine shakes her head wordlessly.

Enjolras steps forward instead, a question in his eyes as he places a hand on Éponine's shoulder. She meets his gaze for a long moment and she expects herself to refuse but then she's carefully removing Gavroche's hold from her, brushing a kiss across his forehead, and shifting his solid weight into Enjolras's arms.

"Put him in my bed," Cosette tells Enjolras as Éponine pushes herself away from the kitchen counter, where she's been leaning, and into Cosette's arms, hands pressed to her face because she needs nothing more than her best friend.

Cosette clearly wasn't expecting Éponine to launch herself at her but she adapts easily, wrapping her arms so tightly around Éponine that Éponine feels like she has shut the entirety of the outside world out. Marius clears his throat awkwardly and then half runs after Enjolras—even from the Cosette's room, they hear Enjolras' hand slap over Marius' mouth so he doesn't wake Gavroche again and they both giggle feebly.

"I'm sorry," Éponine hears herself whisper and now Cosette is soothing her, telling her it's okay as Éponine repeats what she'd told Enjolras earlier and about how hard it is to look after Gavroche because she needs to do it _right_ and Cosette just hugs her tightly.

"You are doing amazingly," Cosette tells her when Éponine has stopped talking, leaning back so that Éponine has to look at her and see the earnest expression she wears. "I couldn't do what you're doing. I don't think any of us could."

"You won't mess him up," Marius adds kindly and both girls jump, because they hadn't heard him re-enter the room. "He's a great kid."

That leads to a group hug, all of their arms wrapped around each other and their heads knocking together as Cosette and Marius repeat reassurances and they drink their tea when Enjolras emerges from Cosette's bedroom. They leave the television on low as they all squeeze onto the sofa and no one speaks about anything important as they drop into sleep, all jammed together in a way that should be claustrophobic but is actually strangely reassuring.

With Cosette's hand twined in hers and her head on Enjolras' shoulder—he's not sleeping, he's reading one of Cosette's textbooks—Éponine reflects on how she quite possibly has the best friends in the world.

:::

Éponine strongly suspects it was Enjolras who texted Grantaire with instructions regarding breakfast the next morning, after Gavroche has woken everyone (except Enjolras, who Éponine doesn't think slept) by leaping from the coffee table and onto them with a wild shout. Grantaire turns up with Combeferre and bacon half an hour after this incident, claiming to have been invited before taking over the kitchen as Enjolras automatically moves to his side to discuss something or other.

Combeferre rolls his eyes at them both and Éponine smirks as she lifts Gavroche onto the table so that he's not in the way of either the cooking or Cosette and Marius' flirting on the sofa.

"They just can't see it, can they?" he asks as he tears open the bacon and Éponine roots out a frying pan from the cupboard.

"Nope," she replies as they both stare at Enjolras and Grantaire, who don't seem to realise there are people all around them before exchanging grins.

When they all fall into place around the table, Gavroche sitting on—most surprisingly—Enjolras' lap because there aren't enough chairs, Éponine realises her friends have somehow smuggled enough food to last the week into the apartment and packed it into cupboards. She glances a Combeferre, who simply smiles. Enjolras is laughing at something Grantaire has said whilst Gavroche steals his bacon, Marius is blushing as Cosette plays with his hair, and Combeferre just winks at Éponine before pouring her a full mug of coffee. The kitchen is warm and filled with laughter and Éponine can't place what feels different about this Wednesday morning with the sunlight filtering into the room.

It's only when the plates are empty, her feet have ended up in Combeferre's lap, and Gavroche is beating Marius, Cosette and Combeferre at some kind of board game that Éponine realises she isn't achingly lonely.

After all, it's hard to feel alone when you're surrounded by family.

* * *

**authors notes: **thank you so much for all the amazing feedback on gods in ruins! this is a continuation, it's going to be a series of interconnected stories so i hope you like this and want to see the rest! i'd be ever so flattered if you liked it enough to favourite or alert, but please leave me a review and let me know what you thought!


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